


Hymn

by Everyday_Im_Narrating



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, F/M, I AM A HUGE SUCKER FOR THIS TROPE, Wedding, edith piaf was a freakin GENIUS, french music, hymne à l'amour, kind of? if you squint? it's not a sad ending just hopeful, now with slightly fewer typos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Narrating/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Narrating
Summary: That’s what matters the most, isn’t it? The person you’re marrying. Allison grew up watching her parents; best friends, companions above all else. It’s still something Allison has always aspired to have with someone else. Something safe and comforting to come home to after whatever life throws at her.It’s not what she gets.(Or: the arranged marriage AU nobody asked for.)





	Hymn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingaddictsanonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingaddictsanonymous/gifts).



> For Sarah, who is always awesome.

Maybe Allison shouldn’t care so much about not being a cliché, but the truth of the matter is that it makes her very proud of herself. And she really isn’t a cliché, not in most ways - except one. She’s been planning her wedding since she went to one at five years old and thought it was the most beautiful thing ever.

She was going to wear a white dress. Strapless, with a bodice that sparkled with embroidery and a skirt that moved gracefully when she walked down the aisle. There was going to be good food, maybe a station where guests could make their own sundaes or something else interactive. A dance floor where Allison and her spouse and everyone they loved could have fun all night long. Goofy accessories to take pictures with. Most importantly, it was going to be a lovely ceremony with fragrant flowers and soft lights and an elderly, kind-looking minister who would marry her to the person she loved the most in the whole world.

That’s what matters the most, isn’t it? The person you’re marrying. A wedding is just a day, a marriage is a _lifetime_ , and Allison grew up watching her parents - best friends, companions above all else; there were fights and disagreements but they always, always supported each other and showed their love in small gestures. Holding hands when they walked down the street, bringing home each other’s favorite treat as a tiny surprise, singing dorky duets in long car rides during which Allison would roll her eyes but smile and sing along. It wasn’t always perfect, but it was strong and beautiful, and even now, years and years after the day her mother died, it’s still something Allison has always aspired to have with someone else. Something safe and comforting to come home to after whatever life throws at her.

It’s not what she gets.

What she gets is her family collectively deciding who she’s supposed to marry, without her getting a say in the matter, and her soon-to-be-husband’s family forcing him into the same deal. It makes sense, if she thinks about it - a family as influential as the Argents, a pack as influential as the Hales, coming together to encourage peace between humans and werewolves instead of the shitstorm of mutual attacks there’s been in Beacon Hills for far too long - but it’s still not fair. Her life is getting decided for her. Derek’s life is being decided for him. It’s for the greater good, but as long as she’s a big girl and goes through with it, Allison has the right to pout about it as much as she wants.

As far as future husbands go, Derek’s really not bad. Allison is kind-of-friends with his younger sister, who has told her enough about him to assure he’s _probably_ not a psychopath; he’s smart and handsome and quiet, and that’s all she knows about him. (She knows he’s smart because he went to NYU and graduated at the top of his class. Knows he’s handsome because, wow, yeah, he is. And on the two dates they’ve had in the _one month_ they had to get to know each other before this stupid wedding, he’s been pleasant enough, but spoke only as much as he _had_ to. It’s something she’ll have to learn to handle, she figures.) Mostly, he’s just really, really not interested. 

He’s asked her for one thing. _Don’t leave me alone with your aunt or your grandfather._ She didn’t understand and he refused to explain, but she won’t deny him the request. After all, he’s let her pick everything else so far - from the nice, cozy loft they’ve been rushing to move into before the wedding to the blue and white comforter on the bed they’ll be sharing as _husband and wife_ , as strangers too. ( _In for a penny_ , she shrugged when he asked her if she’d rather have separate bedrooms. He didn’t seem to have much of a problem, either.)

Maybe she shouldn’t be complaining at all. He’s good. Grumpy, but good. She might not even find a better husband on her own, so all in all, she’s still coming out on top. She tells herself these words until they start sounding almost true.

It’s still a sad day when she has to give up that pretty, bright future she’s been dreaming of for eighteen years and settle for a stranger, a tiny ceremony in the town chapel, and dinner with both families at a French restaurant with live music.

(It’s the two things she insisted on. A dance, which they’ll have soon, and a strapless white dress, which is short and simple and she bought in a department store. In her daydreams, she would try on pretty gowns while sipping champagne and laughing with Lydia and her mom, but Mom is dead and plans change and Derek won’t be in any rush to take this casual little dress off of her when they get home. Settling sucks.)

It’s enough. It has to be. She sits between Derek and her father, with Derek’s also-widowed mom on his other side, and it almost looks like two halves of a family coming together - to someone watching from the outside, not to Allison, who feels sick to her stomach as she picks at the fancy dish she ordered. Don’t get her wrong, she’s been to this place before and their _boeuf bourguignon_ is delicious, but tonight it has an aftertaste of defeat. Beside her, Derek has barely touched his fish; half of it is still on the plate when everyone’s finished eating and the waiter takes it away.

There’s cake, too. Not _exactly_ a wedding cake, but they hold the spatula together and cut the first piece anyway, and the families cheer in unison. It’s tasty enough. All of it is just... Enough. Allison can power through this.

Someone - Kate? - has tipped off the band, because the singer grabs the microphone and beckons the newlyweds - _newlyweds! That’s them!_ \- to come join the small, mismatched crowd already dancing to their songs. It’s whatever; she wanted to dance anyway, and she’ll get used to the _awww_ ’s that echo around her as she takes Derek by the hand and brings him to stand right in front of the band. The singer wishes them a long, happy life together, for which they thank her with matching staged smiles, and the violinist begins to play a song that Allison would recognize anywhere.

“ _Hymne à l’amour?”_ Derek asks, much to her surprise. “Dad used to play it around the house when we were little. Edith Piaf, right?”

Allison allows herself the first genuine smile of the entire evening as they wrap their arms loosely around each other and begin to sway. The girl’s voice is much softer than Piaf’s, but still powerful, filling the room with eloquent words about true love.

“You speak French?”

“A little. Not enough to hold a conversation. Do you?”

She shrugs.

“I have family from there, so, yeah. Bit more than a little.”

“Our kids will be trilingual, then. You’ll teach them French, I can teach them Spanish.”

The mention of children makes Allison legitimately shudder; she can tell Derek was kidding, but it’s still a lot. His laugh has little humor behind it, and she joins in with an equally sarcastic chuckle.

“These people think we’re in love.” She mutters. “They think we’re reciting the lyrics to each other.”

“About how we’d renounce everything for our _love_?”

“And how if one of us died, the other wouldn’t mind dying as well.”

“I wouldn’t mind dying right now.”

Okay, so this guy has exactly the sense of humor she likes. That’s good. That’s definitely a good sign. Allison catches herself smiling without planning it, and it feels nice; she lets herself pull Derek a little closer. (He smells good, too. Really good. She can get used to this part, no problem.)

The singer gets excited as the lyrics get bolder in their promises; Piaf’s declaration of eternal love for someone she probably wanted to be in this exact scenario with makes Allison more emotional than she wished she were. This is it. This is their one chance at a happy ending, and they're wasting it with each other. Derek is a good guy who deserves to be with someone he really loves; Allison has her faults, but damn it, she deserves the same. It feels almost sinful to be dancing to such beautiful words and pretending they're true when she can’t wait to just get home and go to sleep and forget this fake, fake, _fake_ marriage is actually going to last her a lifetime.

It takes her longer than it probably should to notice the wetness on her cheeks.

“Hey.” Derek’s voice is softer; to his werewolf senses, Allison must _stink_ of unhappiness. “It’s just for show, remember? If you fall in love with someone along the way, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“Me either.” She sniffles. _Sniffles._ Pathetic.

There’s nothing left for Allison to do except hold onto Derek’s hand as the song comes to its final chords and the room bursts with applause for the newlyweds. They smile, they wave, they head back to the table with their hands still linked together. As they sit, Derek leans in, still as quiet as he was when they were whispering bitterly about their shared misfortune.

“We’re gonna make this work.” He affirms with a certainty Allison hopes is real. Maybe she’ll be determined to succeed, too, once she’s a little less bitter about everything. Right now she takes a deep breath, nods firmly, and lets his words become her anchor.

They’ll make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a part 2? I have no idea. Also, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCixV4btzTc) the song if anyone's interested. It's not Edith's version but it's my personal favorite, AKA the wonderful Mireille Mathieu.


End file.
